


Sword of Damocles

by Sionnan



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Canon Typical Swearing, Gen, gen kill AU, lawyer ray person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sionnan/pseuds/Sionnan
Summary: Fill of the prompt: “Josh Ray Person/Nathaniel 'Nate' Fick, Ray never joins the Marines instead becoming a lawyer. Nate punches Casey Casem once he's discharged and Ray is his lawyer.”
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Sword of Damocles

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I am not a lawyer, and this fic is not an accurate representation of how criminal representation works.

_i. the client_

Ray sighed, his morning already a shitshow and he wasn't even through his morning travel cup of coffee, obtained on his way to gas up while then waiting for hours on the commute. He needed to move closer to the city, but with the pay of a public defender, this seemed a dwindling possibility, the looming student loans of his JD more pressing than a shorter commute.

It was hard striking out on your own as a young lawyer. He'd spent some time slumming it with the ambulance chaser types, and found that he couldn't live with himself after a while. Regardless of what his relatives back in good old Missouri would have thought of lawyers, Ray honest to god wanted to help people. He also just wanted to live on a diet more than ramen noodles and McDonalds.

The county jail was busy even at this time of the morning, a bewildering mix of humanity at every level filtering through. He found the clerk, and shot her a winning smile. "Whatcha got for me?"

The clerk, a dead-eyed middle aged woman, wordlessly consulted a battered clipboard to her side. "Fick. Misdemeanor assault."

Ray scrunched his face. "You always give me the best ones. Thanks." He motioned to the door where the connecting door led into the holding cells. "He back there?"

The clerk nodded, and Ray bopped over, giving his ID to the guard to look over before admitting him. At the other side, the desk sergeant motioned to one of the side rooms. "Name?"

Ray looked at the scrap of paper he had scribbled on. "Fick?" The desk sergeant nodded, and spoke lowly into a radio, as Ray let himself in to the interview room. It was dark and stale, the smell of cigarette butts, old coffee, and desperation lingering in the close room.

It wasn't long before Ray could hear the scuff of feet outside, and one of the guards opened the door to the room. Ray half turned to get a glimpse of his defendant.

Fick was a tall, well built specimen who was decidedly military. Ray, caught off guard, checked the processing file. Nothing there, other than an apartment fairly close to the base. Ray looked up again to see that Fick's complexion was splotchy, like he had maybe spent a good portion of the night highly emotional or drunk.

Ray stood and stuck his hand out, which Fick took wordlessly. "Hi, Mr. Fick, I'm Ray Pearson, your public defender," he said in a friendly tone. Ray took the moment to run a short assessment on Fick. The guy was about his age, maybe a little older, but not by much. His eyes seemed very flat, Ray noted, slightly uncomfortable. It was the kind of look of a heavy habitual drug user, or someone who had been deeply traumatized. Ray had seen both of these in his line of work.

"Please sit," Ray said, and settled in his chair, noting as Fick, still wordless, sunk into the other folding chair and put his head in his hands. He seemed like someone wrestling with a crisis. However, Ray was on a deadline, so he plowed forward. "So, your file says misdemeanor assault. Good news is that it's not felony assault, but bad news is that it might get you jail time if we can't argue it down. So, why don't we go through it?"

Fick hadn't raised his eyes from the table. Ray felt an unexpected stab of sympathy. Fick was well groomed, well nourished, and obviously not a drunken frat boy or sociopathic drug dealer. Something was eating at him. "Nate?" Ray asked quietly, and Fick's eyes finally came unglued from their sightless study of the formica table. His gaze went straight through Ray, unfocused, sending a shiver down Ray's back.

"I punched a senior NCO." Fick's voice was so low and hollow it sounded like he was at the bottom of a well. This was not the histrionic despair of a junkie who had made yet another choice in a string of bad decisions, nor was it the flat affect of the smooth talking habitual offender, explaining how it wasn't their fault. This was for all intents and purposes, a regular guy who found himself at rock bottom.

Ray swallowed back some nameless emotion. "A senior NCO, huh? I had a brother in the Army. Where are you out of?"

Fick closed his eyes slowly, veiling something like sadness, and his mouth twisted. "Camp Pendleton."

Ah. "Marines." Ray noted this down, made a scant side note about a service connected emotional disturbance and looked back up. Fick's eyes were open again, and he really didn't seem there at all.

"Why'd you clock him?" Ray asked. The report was surprisingly brief, really just the facts. Ray suspected the cops who reported this really didn't want to step on the toes of the military.

"Was out of Pendleton," Fick said, looking aside slightly, tone still distant and disconnected. "I was discharged last week."

"Oh." Ray honestly didn't know how to respond to this. It wasn't in his report. "Uh, good circumstances I hope?"

Fick's eyes closed again, as though he were weathering a blow. "I was honorably discharged."

This was eating into Ray's time, but there was something about Fick that stopped Ray from rushing this. Ray made another note, and then asked, "Where were you guys?"

Fick shook his head. "Some bar. We wanted to get away from Pendleton. My guys wanted to see me off."

My guys. The innate protectiveness of those words struck Ray. "Your guys?"

"My unit. I led a recon unit in Iraq."

Recon. Jesus. Why hadn't this guy led with the fact he was a certified badass. "So you were in a bar, and your NCO was there too? Was he part of the festivities?"

Fick shook his head, and smoothed one large hand over his close shorn skull. "No. He was just there. He said some shit about me, how it was good I wasn't coming back because I was just gonna get my men killed if I stayed." Fick's mouth twisted again. "So I dropped him."

The brutal simplicity of those words made Ray's stomach drop. "You struck him?"

"Yeah."

Shit, man. It was probably good he wasn’t in the military anymore, the guy would have been court martialed. "Was he doing anything to you up to this point? Pushing, pulling, anything?"

Fick seemed to concentrate for a second, almost puzzled, before he said, "He was pushing me. He said..." Fick cleared his throat and licked his lips. "He said it's good that I'm leaving because I'd nearly gotten them all killed in Nasiriyah." Something dark traveled behind Fick's blue eyes, but nothing showed on his face, still somehow unsettlingly blank.

Ray scribbled a note to have a psychologist talk to Fick to attest to his frame of mind. He reminded Ray of a car crash victim, the same half wakeful manner of someone recovering from a severe shock. He looked back up to Nate, whose gaze hadn't shifted nor had his expression changed. "So, Nate, how much had you had to drink last night?"

Fick shook his head slightly. "I wasn't wasted. I was with my guys." Not exactly indignant, but firm.

Ray shrugged his hands slightly, "Meaning?"

Nate considered for a second, before he said deliberately, "You don't lose control in front of the guys you lead. I'm responsible for them, and they count on me to set a good example." There was a beat, before he amended, "Was responsible for them." His eyes shrouded slightly, and he seemed to retreat into himself again.

Ray underlined his note about the psychologist. "Anything else other than a bit of alcohol last night? I mean, you said this was sort of a going away party."

Nate's expression was stony. "In my unit?" If Ray had informed him that they were going to piss test all of his guys, Ray suspected Nate's reaction would have been similar.

"I'll take that as a no, then." Ray made a few more notes to corroborate with the guys Fick had been with. "Who were the guys you were with? I'd like to talk with them. And if you have a way to contact them, that would be good."

Fick was silent, eyes suddenly sharp and focused on the table, thinking. "No. I don't wanna drag them into this. This is on me." His voice was still distant, contemplative. It gave Ray the creeps; it was the voice of a man standing on the edge of a bridge over a fast river.

Ray was quiet for a second, circling his note about the psychologist. Then he said, "Nate, I know you don't want to get them in trouble, but by the sounds of it I don't think anything you would have done would put these guys in danger, professionally or personally."

Nate's eyes met his for the first time. "Brad. Brad Colbert. He's my sergeant. And Sergeant Patrick." He recited two sets of phone numbers. "Those are their personal numbers. I don't think they'd want you to approach them at Pendleton. You can start with those two. I'm not sure what the duty roster is anymore, but you can probably catch both after 1800 hours."

Ray nodded. Small steps. He could tell Fick didn't exactly trust Ray to resolve this situation. These types of cases tended to be fairly straight forward, and in such a busy county as they were based in, the judges tended to rule fairly quickly, and Ray wanted to make sure Fick wasn't just going to get six months of jail time for something he could avoid. He had the feeling Fick was obscuring a lot of what happened, probably partly because he may have been a little drunk, but also mostly because he was trying to assume all the responsibility.

"Alright, so look. You're gonna get an arraignment hearing in..." Ray checked his watch, "A couple hours, I'll be there with you. Chances are they'll let you out on recognizance, since you don't have a record. If we get a hardass judge, bail tends to be about $20K."

Fick's eyes closed again, like he had absorbed a blow. He gave a slightly disbelieving huff. "That's almost my yearly salary." His voice was quiet, slightly thin.

Ray blinked at Fick, taken aback. He hadn't realized military officers were so poorly compensated. "Don't worry about it, I'll get ahold of a bondsman, you only pay ten or twenty percent of that, then."

Fick nodded, silent. Ray could see how much Fick had retreated into himself. Shit, he hated to send a guy like that back into the cells, but it's not like they had options. "I'll see you in a couple of hours," Ray said softly, and stood, putting a hand on Nate's shoulder. "I'm gonna try to get you released on recognizance."

Fick nodded and stood, and the door opened, the guard coming back in and securing a hand under Fick's arm. In an instant, they were both gone, and Ray blew a breath out between pursed lips. Fick's demeanor had unearthed an unexpected sympathy in Ray, a certain level of protectiveness. After dealing with hundreds of people every week, Fick was one of the few who really seemed to have gotten the shit end of the stick.

Ray's expectations were right, and Fick was released on his own recognizance, owing probably to the fact the judge seemed sympathetic to the young Marine officer. Fick looked grey under the flourescent lights of the courthouse, and his gaze seemed blunted as Ray stood next to him. He didn't react when the judge released him with his next appearance date, but Ray patted his shoulder, relieved it had worked out this way.

They walked out of the courtroom together, and Ray shot him a sidelong glance. "Can I give you a ride?"

Fick seemed to snap out of it for a second, and he looked around as if just realizing where they were. His blues eyes traced the walls of the lobby, and he looked down at Ray. "I'd appreciate that," he said finally, sounding more clear than he had in the previous hours Ray had spoken to him. He patted his pockets and huffed ruefully. "I don't think I have cash for a taxi."

Ray shook his head, and patted his back lightly. "No worries." His docket had actually been really light, and his next appearance wasn't until later in the afternoon. Also the perils of being a public defender; work seemed to ebb and flow.

Fick blinked in the bright morning California sun, and Ray could see just how deeply tanned Fick was outside, though in incongruous areas. Even while his hands and forearms were brown, his upper arms were fair, almost like a farmer's tan. With his tan, the wiry muscles and the lanky frame, Fick could have passed for a farmer or rancher.

"You hungry?" asked Ray, as he thumbed the unlock button on his key fob, aiming at the rather modest Ford sedan. Something in his Missouri country boy background embedded in him the tendency to always buy American cars, and this one had served him through his time as a law student.

Fick seemed to wait for Ray to get in first before he followed suit, as if stalling on an answer. "You don't need to buy food for me," Fick finally said, voice clear and concise, but apologetic. A hint of an East coast accent was there, hiding underneath the military drawl.

"Don't worry about it," Ray said lightly, fastening himself in. "I haven't eaten yet today, the commute's a bitch."

Fick snorted softly. "Tell me about it. Traffic here is something else. Reminds me of Iraq."

Ray noted that observation without comment. "You live off base?"

"Yeah. I had an apartment lined up."

Ray glanced at the already busy traffic. "I want tacos. You want tacos?" Ray finally saw a slight smile curve at the edge of Fick's lips.

"Sure," he said finally. "Tacos sound good."

Ray found them a place that looked to be owned by a multigenerational Mexican family, and got them both food. He found Fick outside, leaning against Ray's car. He accepted the foil wrapped bundle with a grateful look, and with the other hand offered a folded bill. "It's all I found in my wallet."

Ray took it and noted a twenty. "Fuck no, dude," he said automatically, before remembering Fick was a client and not a buddy. He tucked it swiftly back under the foil of the taco. "Keep it. You can buy me a beer after I get you off."

Fick regarded the warm bundle, and nodded soberly. Ray could tell he was already resigned to the worst possible scenario, and as Fick started peeling apart the package, felt a stab of pity when he realized the corners of Fick's eyes were wet.

Ray looked down at his own bundle of taco, trying to let Fick save face. Jail was a rough time for anyone, and judging by Fick's demeanor in the interview room, he was dealing with more than just a bad night. Fick was probably caught off guard with the kind treatment, probably expecting to be swallowed up by the California penal system.

Ray heard a sniff characteristic of someone trying to clear up tears and knew this was the case.

"Sorry, man," he heard Fick say, muffled around apparently a mouthful of food, and Ray looked over. There were tear tracks on Fick's tanned face, but he otherwise just looked tired. "I cry over stupid stuff since I got back," he admitted, his tone both wry and apologetic.

Ray gave him a consolatory half smile, and nodded. "Don't worry about it. Iraq sounds like shit."

Fick gave a short huff around his mouthful of food. "Yeah."

"I'd punch a motherfucker, too," he offered, treating Fick to a grin, and this time Fick actually laughed.

They finished the tacos in a more relaxed silence, and Fick seemed more solid when they got back in the car. Ray hadn't realized it before, but freshly fed, Fick actually didn't have the drawn look to him he had been sporting all morning. Dude probably had a crazy fast metabolism.

As they drove, Ray broke the silence. "So I'm gonna reach out to, uh, Sergeant Colbert first, and I'm gonna talk to the workers in the bar. In the meantime, just take it easy, alright?" His tone made it clear he didn't mean he was warning Fick away from socking more guys. He was honestly concerned Fick may do something rash to himself.

Fick was quiet for a second before he said, "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Fick's apartment was in one of those bigger buildings, featureless and mammoth, outside of the city limits. He got out of the car wordlessly, then turned and leaned back through the open door. "Hey, Ray."

Ray, slightly started at being addressed for the first time looked over. "Yeah?"

Fick gave him a half smile that broke his heart. "Thanks for your help." He gave a little wave, shut the car door softly, and headed to the front doors of the building. Ray watched him go, and after the loping stride carried him through the doors, Ray slowly put the car in drive and pulled away.

There was no way he could let this guy go to jail. Something in his gut told him there was more to this story. They had a couple weeks til his next hearing. Ray had plenty of time to figure out what happened to land Nate Fick, with his lurking East coast accent and his sad smile, in a San Diego jail.

_ii. the unit_

Ray reached Brad Colbert on a Saturday afternoon sometime after 6 pm. He had tried periodically through the week, but Colbert either ignored or missed his calls. Colbert picked up on the second ring, and Ray was startled to hear the nasal, slightly high voice not much lower than his own. "Hello?"

"Hi, Sergeant Colbert. My name is Ray Pearson, I'm Nate Fick's lawyer, I'm representing him on the assault charge he got earlier in the week."

"He's been out?" Colbert sounded surprised. "I didn't hear from him."

"Yeah, he was released on recognizance. Do you mind meeting with me? I'd like to talk with you about what went on that night."

There was a stretch of silence, before Colbert came back with, "Sure. Are you free tonight?"

"Yeah!" Ray tried to tamp down his surprise without success. "Where can I meet you?"

Colbert named a restaurant not far from the base. "Just ask at the front for me. They know me pretty well there. I'll be there at eight."

He found Colbert at the eatery, the drive nearly taking up the entire interlude of time. On the drive, Ray mentally ran through the questions he wanted to ask Colbert. He wondered idly about the surprise in Colbert's voice on the phone, as though he had expected Fick to call him. There was something to be said about the level of trust between the men, with that.

When he got in, he asked the girl at the front of the house for a Brad Colbert. She pointed back to another tall, well built specimen near the back of the seating area, facing so that he could see people coming in. Even from that distance, Ray could see that like Fick, Colbert was deeply tanned and had a sort of gaunt quality to him, though his eyes were much sharper, and they lighted on Ray's face with a frank, searching look. He shook Ray's hand without rising, and nodded at the bench opposite him.

Colbert let the waitress, who had come over to ask for drink orders, take Ray's request for a sweet tea, and then launched right into business. "What's it looking like for Lieutenant Fick? I didn't hear what he was charged with when they were taking him away."

Ray pulled out his pad, and leafed through his notes as he answered. "Simple assault."

"Shit." Breathed Colbert, and he shook his head. "I thought they were just gonna get them out of there and let him go. I didn't think Griego was gonna press charges." Ray watched as Colbert's mouth thinned, and he pulled another mouthful of beer from the glass he had poured it into. "What is he looking at?"

Ray paused, deliberating his response, and then said, "Well, if he's found guilty, he could get six months in jail, depending on the judge."

Colbert sighed and shook his head, disbelieving. "Shit. This is unbelievable."

"Why don't we get started, I have a feeling you might be able to put some light on this." Ray flipped through his notes and gave a rapid-fire assessment of the events of the night. "So, according to Mr. Fick, you all were out in a bar as a kind of send off for him, at which time Mr. Griego approached your party, insulted Mr. Fick, which is when he struck Mr. Griego."

Brad's clear blue eyes narrowed and fixed on Ray. "Is that what he told you?"

Ray blinked, caught off guard. "Yeah. Mr. Fick said that Griego apparently made some derogatory remarks to Mr. Fick about his ability as a leader, and he lost control and hit Griego. Are you telling me you witnessed something different?"

Brad snorted, the sound somewhere between exasperation and scorn, then he sobered. "Casem-- Griego was one of the worst commanding officers in Iraq I had known. He's always had a hair up his ass about it, because he's self aware enough to know that he's a shitbird."

Ray made a note in the notebook between them. "So you're saying Mr. Griego was looking for a reason to fight." The waitress had come back with the sweet tea, and offered to get Colbert another beer. He shook his head, and she departed.

A beat of silence, then Colbert said, "I'm saying Griego started it. He's always been on Fick's case, and now that Fick's discharged, Griego can say whatever he wants."

Well this was unexpected. Ray bulleted a few more points, and said, "Started it how?"

"Griego had him backed into a corner, talking to Fick like he was a drill sergeant or some moto bullshit. He was pretty drunk by then, and he put a hand around Fick's neck."

Ray stopped short. "Around his neck?"

"Yeah." Colbert cupped one large brown hand around his own neck, first finger and thumb anchored just under the jaw. "Like that. Fick didn't do anything until Griego started to squeeze, and then he broke Griego's grip and pushed him away."

Ray was torn between a sense of relief and being flabbergasted. "He _pushed_ Griego? To get him away? And nothing else?"

Colbert shook his head. "Griego hit a chair on the way down. That's how he got the marks on his face. You can ask any of the other guys, they'd say the same thing I've told you. I'm guessing that didn't make it into the report."

Fuck no it didn't, Ray didn't say, but he was silent as he scribbled this down in his notes. Something wasn't sitting right. It's possible the cops just rushed the call and took Griego at his word. It's possible they were buddies with Griego and took his side. Either possibility didn't comfort Ray even remotely. "Did the cops talk to you guys?"

Colbert shrugged. "Not really. They just talked to Fick and Griego. They may have talked to the bouncer."

Ray made another note to talk to the bouncer. It could be the cops were just rushed and the bouncer took Griego's side. It could be the bouncer was a friend of Griego's.

"You're gonna get him out of this, right?" Colbert's words broke Ray out of his train of thoughts, and he looked up to the steady blue gaze fixed on him. "Lieutenant Fick was one of the only people we could trust over in Iraq." He shook his head. "He doesn't deserve to get creamed a week out of service for something he didn't do."

Ray nodded. "I don't think he does either." He thought for a second, somehow perversely proud and fond of Fick, whose loyalty to his men extended past his service. In another life, Ray could see how he would have immense respect for a guy like Fick as a leader. "Yeah," he said, and tried unsuccessfully to squash a smirk, "I'm gonna get him off."

Colbert fought to hide the slight smile in return. "Good."

Ray stood, and then paused. "One thing. I'm gonna go talk to the workers at the bar, see if they'll corroborate your story. But are you willing to say what you've told me on stand?"

Colbert shrugged. "At this point, I don't give a shit. We'll probably have orders for another deployment soon, I have bigger things to worry about than Griego starting fights in bars."

Ray nodded and extended a hand, relieved at finding the same kind of loyalty in Colbert that he had found in Fick. "Thanks for your time, Sergeant."

_iii. the sergeant_

The bar was a much easier affair, being that it had regular hours and was identifiable in the arresting report. The trick was figuring out whether or not the bouncer on duty the night of the incident was there. Ray called a couple times the following week, getting responses ranging from flat out no to vague confusion. Apparently fights among servicemembers weren't exactly uncommon at the establishment. In between calling the bar and dealing with his caseload, he made a few surreptitious calls to Fick, making sure the guy hadn't necked himself in his closet in the meantime. He was always relieved when the Marine's slightly husky tenor greeted him on the other end.

Finally on a Thursday night, Ray called and got the bartender who had been there the night Fick had been arrested. It was a girl who sounded like she may have been in her twenties, and remembered that night because she remembered Fick's party had tipped her well. She also knew that the bouncer who had worked that night was there too. Her tone soured somewhat when she mentioned him.

"By the way," Ray said casually, pen poised over his notebook, "Do you know if the bouncer knew the guy who said he got punched that night?"

"I think so? Maybe. I've seen them talking before, sort of joking around."

"Okay, great," Ray said, as he wrote. "Can you tell me what you saw at that time?"

"Well, I was at the bar all night, and it was pretty packed, so I didn't see much. But I did see the younger guy, like, pushed up into the corner by the older guy, that's why I yelled for Jim, the bouncer."

Well hey, two for two. That was corroborating testimony. "Now, you don't know if there's a security camera covering the area, do you?"

"Mmm. We have one over the bar, and one over the front door. You can ask security if they'll show it to you."

Hold on. Ray paused. "You mean the cops didn't ask for it?"

"I don't remember, but I don't think so."

Jesus. Yeah, why look for video evidence? "Alright, do you think you can get one of the security guys on the phone for me?"

"Sure, gimme a sec."

Ray heard the phone put down, and footsteps depart. The faint sound of a fan and music played over ceiling speakers floated over the phone, muted. He leafed through his notes as he waited, going over the points he covered with Colbert, and the thought of Fick leaning against his car, crying stoically while eating a taco sprang unbidden to his mind. The image was so vulnerable that Ray swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat, and he cleared his throat as he heard someone else pick up the phone.

Ray spent about another fifteen minutes on the phone, determining the angle of the camera over the bar. He asked for the security guy to look for the night and time on tape, and have it ready for Ray when he came by. Once Ray explained he was a public defender and not a cop, the guy's attitude lightened. "Fuck those guys," the security guy said. "They don't give a shit about what happens here."

"What do you mean?"

"Man, a bunch of cops drink here free when Jim's on. They just take his word for whatever."

Well, a lot more of that night was making sense. "Do you know if Jim knows the guy who said he got punched that night?"

"I dunno, I wasn't working then, but if it was a cop or whatever, I wouldn't be surprised."

"He was a Marine." Ray jotted a note to make a case about Jim's quality of testimony. If he was influenceable, he might be able to make a case that the arrest was based on false testimony and a poor investigation.

"Then could be. Jim likes to suck up to those guys."

"Alright. Hey, I'm gonna be around soon, can I grab a copy of that tape?"

"Sure. Just sign something for my boss so he knows who has it."

So much of this seemed so different than Fick's recall of events. Given Fick's possible level of drunkenness and emotionality, he may in fact be remembering differently. It was still worth a discussion. As he headed out to his car, he called Fick, who picked up on the sixth ring. His voice was muzzy when he came on the line. "'Lo?"

"Hey, Lieutenant Fick, it's Ray Person." He had been hearing about Fick as a lieutenant so much from Colbert it was second nature to refer to him by that now. Fick didn't seem to catch it. "Did I catch you at a bad time," asked Ray as he sidled into his car and threw his notebook on the passenger seat.

"No, I'm good. What's up?" His voice gradually cleared as he spoke, and Ray wondered if he might have been sleeping.

"So, I talked to Sergeant Colbert and some of the people who worked at the bar the night you got arrested. Both Sergeant Colbert and the bartender said they watched Mr. Griego back you into a corner and put his hand on your throat."

There was a stretch of silence, then Fick cleared his throat over the line and said, "Yeah, he did. But I hit him to get him off me."

Ray listened as he pulled out into traffic. "Sergeant Colbert said you broke his grip and pushed him. How did you break his grip?"

"I brought my arms up in between his arms and swept out."

Yeah, that wasn't striking. That was creating distance between yourself and your aggressor. "Nate," Ray said, "That doesn't make you the perpetrating party in this."

"Does it matter? That's probably what it says on the police report. I'm sure that's what Gunny Griego said." Fick's voice was flat and hollow again, the same tone Ray remembered from their first conversation. Shit.

"Look, after I stop by the bar, I'll come by and we can talk it through, alright? Promise me you'll..." Ray paused, not sure what he was asking or how to phrase it. "Promise me you'll meet me around 7:30?"

There was another pause, long enough that Ray wondered for a second if Fick had hung up. Then finally, almost as though Fick felt he'd been caught at something, he responded, quietly, "Yeah, sure, I'll be here."

"Good. I'll come by your place then."

"See ya." The line went dead. Ray breathed out, snapping the phone shut and tossing it into the passenger seat, like he had talked a guy off a ledge. He very well may have, he supposed.

The bar was a slightly less shady sort than what was normally found around Pendleton, and definitely wasn't the titty joint Ray had initially envisioned. It seemed to be a regular sports bar, drawing in a range of clientele. As he stepped in, he saw multiple TVs anchored high up on the wall showing different sports games.

He spotted the bartender, and walked over. "Hi, I'm Ray Person, we spoke on the phone."

She flashed him a smile and shook his proffered hand. "Madison."

Ray looked around at the seating area, and back to her. "Where did the fight break out?"

Madison pointed to the far corner of the seating area. "Back that way. That's why I couldn't see anything. They had a fairly large party, and at first all I saw was the younger guy pushed up back against the wall, with the older guy on top of him. Then the older guy kinda fell back, with a few of the other guys pulling on him."

That was also a new detail. It sounded like maybe a couple of the other Marines pulled Griego off of Fick, rather than Fick striking him. Ray wrote this down in his notebook. "Would you be willing to testify to that on stand?"

Madison shrugged. "Sure, I guess."

Ray gave her a smile, and tapped the bar with the notebook. "Thanks. I'm gonna go back and talk to your security guy, okay? Also, where's Jim?"

Madison gestured vaguely. "In the back."

"Tell him I wanna talk to him, don't let him take off." Ray headed down the side corridor that Madison pointed to, where there was a door in the back that Ray tapped on. It popped open to reveal a guy inside.

"Hey," said Ray, sliding in. "I'm Ray Person, I think we talked on the phone about the tape?"

"Yeah, I'm Randy." He pointed to the screen. "I think this is the footage you want?"

Ray stepped closer and bent down to the small monitor. The view mostly showed the bar, but pushed out more than Ray expected, showing an expanse of the closest tables. "And there aren't any more angles?"

Randy shook his head. "Fraid not. Just the front door."

"Can you play this?" Ray watched the footage as Madison paused at the bar, gaze directed offscreen. Suddenly, she moved in a flurry, and in the corner of the view, Ray could see the bottoms of men's legs, churning as though they were struggling. Nothing really identifiable. "What about the front door?" Ray asked.

Randy queued up the tape on another monitor, pointing out the door. It showed what appeared to be Jim escorting Fick's identifiable form out of the door. Since it was a color tape, and a fairly decent camera, Ray could actually see red rings around Fick's neck, as he was jostled out of the door. Closely following was the stumpy figure of Griego, who appeared more or less unharmed save for a red line on his cheek. Randy sped forward through the footage, showing Fick planted on the sidewalk with his knees up, head in his hands. Griego paced back and forth, gesturing.

Ray could see Jim turning occasionally to yell back inside the bar, presumably at the contingent of Marines yelling outside. He watched as the cops showed up, talked to Fick and Griego, talked to the bouncer, put Fick in handcuffs, and drove off. It was one of the most low effort arrests Ray had ever seen. He sighed, and rubbed a hand across his forehead, and turned to Randy. "Can you make a copy of this for me too?"

Randy nodded. "Sure thing."

Ray pointed out toward the bar, "I'm gonna go talk to Jimmy." Randy nodded as he turned back to the bar, digging into a shelf for another tape.

Out in the bar, Ray saw the burly Jimmy sitting at the bar, Madison on the other side. "Hi there, you Jimmy?" asked Ray, flashing a thin smile at Jimmy. Jimmy turned on the stool slightly, and gruffed, apparently already tired of the conversation, "Yeah, I'm Jimmy."

"Alright. See, I'm Lieutenant Fick's lawyer, he's the guy who got arrested about a week ago. Remember that?"

Jimmy shrugged, eyes already on the baseball game on the TV above Madison's head. "Fights in here almost every night. You wanna be more specific?"

Ray suspected he was being deliberately obtuse. "Group of Marines, you hauled one outside after Madison called you in. Other one followed you out, yelling." An edge had crept into Ray's voice, equally as sick of Jimmy as Jimmy was of him.

Jimmy seemed to have forgotten he was part of a conversation, with how long he delayed responding to Ray. Finally, he muttered, "Oh yeah," attention still fixed on the TV.

"Do you happen to know Gunnery Sergeant Griego?"

At the mention of the name, Jimmy's eyes cut over to Ray, then back to the TV. "Yeah I know him. Drinks here sometimes. Good guy."

"So you knew he was one of the guys in the fight?" Ray started drumming his fingers on the edge of the bar, and saw Madison's gaze bounced between his fingers and Jimmy's face.

Jimmy shrugged. "Yeah. Looked like he got clocked so I pulled the other guy outside."

"So you were outside during the fight?" Ray fished into his jacket pocket and pulled out his notebook and started writing. Jimmy's attention was suddenly drawn to Ray.

"What are you writing?" Jimmy's voice was sharp, and Ray gave a half smirk.

"What we're talking about. So you came in after the fight started?"

"Yeah." Jimmy's voice was apprehensive.

"So you didn't see who hit who first?"

"No." If Jimmy had been laconic before, he was no monosyllabic. Fine, better to compare against the police report. Ray skimmed over his notes from the report and said, "But you stated to police Fick had started the fight."

Jimmy's face was thunderous. "I dunno. I don't remember what I said to them. I came in after they started the fight."

"What did you see when you came in?"

"Buncha guys in the back corner."

Ray stifled a sigh of exasperation. It came out as a huff through his nose. "Did you see Fick and Griego among the guys?"

"Yeah."

"Where was Griego?"

"Getting up from the floor."

"And where was Fick?"

"Standing by the wall."

Ray paused in writing and looked Jimmy in the face. "Did you see if Fick had any marks on him?"

There was a long pause, as Jimmy seemed to weigh his words. Finally he said, "Yeah, he had marks on his neck."

Ray jotted this down, deliberately taking his time. "What kind of marks?"

Another long pause, before Jimmy said, "Like something had been wrapped around his neck."

Ray fixed him with a glance. Really? C'mon. "What kind of something? Hands? A belt? A scarf?"

Jimmy shrugged, as though he realized he were being obnoxious. "Hands, probably."

Ray looked back down to his pad, writing. Finally he said, "Did Griego say anything to you?"

Jimmy sucked his teeth, and then huffed, "He said something like "I'm gonna kill you," to the other guy.

"To Fick?" Ray arched an eyebrow at Jimmy, who nodded. "Did Griego say anything that would indicate why he was on the floor?"

Jimmy looked away, truculent. "Not really. I just figured Fick put him there."

"And when you grabbed Fick, did anybody in his party say anything?"

Another shrug, defensive. "Yeah, the guys he was with said Griego started it, couple said Griego had him in a choke." Jimmy swiped a hand across his face, gaze everywhere but Ray.

Ray shook his head. "And you didn't mention this to the cops?"

Another shrug, longer, and Jimmy fidgeted. "Griego seemed pretty pissed at Fick, I figured the other guys were just covering for him."

Fucking hell. Now he knew what he had to do when he got to Fick's place. Check to see if the marks were still there. It may have been a long shot, but still. Maybe call into the jail and ask if they got pictures of Fick's neck during intake.

Ray sighed. "Thanks, Jimmy. Now, you don't have to agree to testify to everything I have written down here, but I'll get a subpoena to compel you if you don't. Sound good?" He skewered Jimmy with a look.

Jimmy was looking away, not really at the TV anymore, not really at anything. His hands were clasped in front of him. "Yeah."

"Cool." Ray's tone let him know it was anything but. He looked over to Madison, gave her a smile, and said, "Thanks for your help." On the way out, he passed by Randy standing in the door, holding the two tapes. The slight smile on Randy's face told Ray that the security guy probably enjoyed watching Jimmy get taken down a peg or two.

He tried to stomp down on the anger that had boiled up during the conversation with Jimmy. Anger at the way that Fick had been treated, the way that nobody seemed to want to double check and see if there was anything except for the one side of the story.

Ray got in his car and made an effort not to slam the door after him, but he couldn't resist burning rubber out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

_iv. the revelation_

Fick answered his door looking more normal than Ray anticipated he would. The tall, lanky form stood to the side, as Fick said, "Come on in." Ray flashed him a smile and patted his arm as he walked in, looking around. The place was very sparse, as though Fick had just moved in. Fick walked past him and made a left, saying over his shoulder, "You want a beer or something?"

"Coffee, if you have it," Ray murmured as he followed, still glancing around. The whole place seemed in stasis, like someone had left a while ago, not just moved in. There was dust on the coffee table around a stack of books. From the entryway to the kitchen, he exchanged glances with Fick, who shot him a dubious look.

"You good having coffee so late? You gonna even sleep, man?" Fick was moving through the kitchen, unearthing coffee filters and filling a pitcher to pour into the coffee maker.

"Yeah," Ray said, a sigh sneakily tacking itself onto his word, and Fick looked at him. "Long day?" he queried.

Ray huffed a slight smile, and stepped closer, their earlier conversation on the phone, paired with the revelations in the bar combining in a jumble. "Nate, lemme see your neck."

Fick, who had just finished pouring the water in the coffeemaker, furrowed his brow at the request. "My neck?"

Ray nodded, watching Fick flip the little switch. "Yeah. Your neck." The Marine turned, looking down at the lawyer, drying his hands on his jeans. "Okay?" He sounded uncertain, like he wasn't sure the point of the exercise.

Ray closed the distance so he was less than an arms length away and peered at the flesh around the front of Nate's neck. He wasn't surprised to see the faint yellowing and purplish marks around Fick's jawline and upper neck. Ray looked up under his brow to trade glances with his client.

After a second of silence, Fick sighed. "Yeah," he said unprompted. "Griego had his hands on me." His mouth thinned, and he looked away slightly, and shook his head. "It doesn't matter."

Ray cupped a hand to his head, a slightly hysterical giggle escaped him. "My god, dude, it totally does." He may have already had too much coffee. The searching look Fick was giving Ray made him think maybe Fick suspected this too. He passed his hands over his face, reflecting somewhat incredulously that Ray had never met a client so determined not to be proven innocent.

"Okay," Ray said, erring on the diplomatic side. "I'm gonna put him hands up near your neck, not around them, and you show me how you broke Griego's grip."

Fick looked down, hands still on his hips, as though the tiles were suddenly fascinating. Finally, he looked back up and nodded, straightening. Ray reached up, hands hovering around the Marine's neck. "Like this?"

Fick gave a half shoulder shrug. "Not really. You're the same size, but he's got more muscle than you. He was using one hand."

Ray put his left hand down, then half lifted it. "What was he doing with this one?"

Fick seemed to stop to think, blue eyes going a bit distant. Small lines worked around his eyes when he finally said, "I think he was jabbing his fingers into my chest."

Ray shifted his right hand to fake cup the underside of Nate's jaw and neck, using the other to hover over his chest, and something depressing occurred to him. With that height difference, Griego must have been leaning his weight into the hand around Fick's neck, accounting for the bruising. "So how did you break his grip," asked Ray, half to himself.

Fick reached up, movements slow and deliberate to show how he had used his left arm to break the straight-arm and loosen the grip, and then pantomimed the push to Ray's chest. Ray obligingly moved back and nodded. "Yeah. Kinda what I figured. And that's the extent that you touched Sergeant Griego?"

Fick nodded. Behind him, the coffeemaker hissed and burbled, and Fick turned to pull a cup down from the cabinet. "I didn't touch him otherwise." This lined up with what Colbert and Madison had said, and backed up the video evidence with the marks on his neck.

Ray nodded, let this sink in. "You realize this means you were wrongly arrested, right?"

Fick glanced over his shoulder as he poured the coffee, and then turned to hand Ray the cup. He leaned back against the counter, eyes fixed on Ray, silent.

Ray huffed a laugh and took a sip of the coffee. Standard, acrid coffeemaker java. Delicious. "I don't get you, dude. I'm telling you this means no jail time, no charges, no fines."

Fick blinked slowly. Finally, he said, "You might wanna talk to the cops who arrested me."

Ray took another mouthful of coffee. "Whaddya mean?"

"They didn't seem to care. They asked me if I hit Griego, I said I pushed him, they cuffed me, and that was it."

Jesus. Ray shook his head. "Goddamn right I'm gonna talk to them." The surly, somewhat indignant tone of Ray's voice prompted a ghost of a smile from Fick.

"You know," Fick said, "I honestly did not expect to get a public defender who gave a shit about me. Hell, I didn't expect to live this long after Iraq."

That statement hit Ray like a ton of bricks. Ray pinned him with a look. "You gave up on yourself," he said, his tone revelatory rather than accusatory, like he had just made a connection he hadn't seen before. Fick's head dipped, as though Ray had verbalized something that had been lurking in Fick's mind, something he hadn't wanted to face. The tears while eating tacos, the defeated attitude in the interview room, the lack of interest in his own fate seemed to collate into a clear picture. "Buddy," said Ray, his tone gentle, but at a loss to know what to say next.

A silence stretched between them; Fick's body noticeably tenser, not like he was angry but as though he was trying to physically hold himself together. Ray half wanted to pat his shoulder but was afraid that touching him would make Fick break down. Still with a gentle tone, Ray said softly, "Look, I'm gonna talk to the cops who booked you. Tomorrow, I have a friend that I'd like you to talk with. Would you do that for me?"

Fick didn't, or maybe couldn't look up. He nodded. "Yeah." Ray relaxed slightly. Nate more or less agreed to meet tomorrow, which meant he wasn't planning on anything. Probably. Ray hoped so, anyway. Ray debated asking outright in Fick was planning anything, but instead asked, "Have you talked to Sergeant Colbert?"

Fick finally looked up, blue eyes shrouded. "Brad? Why?"

"He was asking about you the other day. He said he hadn't heard from you, that he didn't realize you had gotten arrested."

Ray watched as Fick swallowed visibly, and then shook his head. "No, I haven't talked to him. He's got enough on his plate."

Ray raised an eyebrow. "I think you should. Because if you won't, I will."

They traded gazes, before Fick shook his head again. "No. Sergeant Colbert is dealing with enough as it is. He doesn't need to deal with me, too."

"'Deal with you', what?" echoed Ray. "Deal with finding you cold in your tub?" Ray watched as Fick froze, like the breath went out him and he couldn't get it back. The lack of denial, the lack of any response at all, cemented what Ray suspected was going on with Fick. He was teetering on the edge of a chasm, just waiting for the right gust of wind to do the rest of the work.

It was Ray's turn to shake his head. "I don't think you have enough faith in your guys, Nate." Fick looked visibly offended. "It's not the duty of the commanding officer to dump their shit in the lap of the enlisted men," he said, voice hard. Ray was just surprised Nate hadn't exploded and kicked him out already.

Ray challenged him mutely, both eyebrows raised. "You're not in, anymore, remember?"

Silence.

Finally, Fick apoke again, words so tight they could have been a high tension wire, "I don't think you get it. They hear anything like this about me, they lose all faith in me. Any trust or respect they had for me, that's gone." One hand swept a short, flat path through the air, like he was brushing crumbs from a table. "You're supposed to be able to handle what you came back with." His eyes bored into Ray's, with an intensity Ray hadn't seen from the man before. "If you can't handle it, then it's better off you don't pull anyone else down with you."

Ray felt his mouth drop open slightly. This was the most Fick had verbalized about his state of mind the entire time they'd been together, and to be frank, it was distressing. If nothing else, they weren't exactly comforting Ray about Nate's stability.

The next words out of Fick's mouth were a good bit lower pitched than his normal speaking voice. "Do not make that call, Person." Ray didn't miss the clear tone of command that overlaid the words. Between the tone and the look, Ray could see how Fick managed to be an effective officer.

Still, fuck that. Ray wasn’t going to just pretend he hadn’t Fick refer to a self destructive desire, and coupled with his blunted emotions, this wasn’t just a case of crossed wired. Ray pulled out his cell phone, thumbed through his history, and found Colbert's number, and dialled it again. He was surprised to find Fick so close to him so fast, but he wasn't surprised to hear Fick say, "No, don't--"

Colbert's voice picked up on the other end. "Hello?"

Ray pushed a flat palm to his client's chest, putting distance between himself and Fick to avoid the other Marine confiscating his phone. "Hi, Sergeant Colbert? This is Ray Person."

"Right, Nate's lawyer." Colbert's use of Fick's first name reassured Ray he was doing the right thing. The two men were familiar enough to use first names. In the meantime, Fick had turned away, elbows on the countertop, head buried in his hands, totally still, as though resignation and shame had turned him to stone.

"Hey, I'm here with Nate. I was hoping you might be able to come over, stay with him for the night."

There was a stretch of silence, before Colbert said simply, "I'm on my way."

Ray let out a breath. "Thanks."

"Tell him I'm coming. Tell him not to do anything." The line went dead.

Ray hung up as well, and turned back to Fick, who hadn't moved. "He said he's coming," Ray stated, voice quiet. "He said not to do anything." Fick's head sunk lower hands gripping together over the top of his head.

Ray realized that his impulsive act may have cost Nate's trust in him. He eyed the Marine's back, until the man straightened, and then walked to the fridge, not looking at Ray. He opened it up, drew out two beers, and cast a slight glance at Ray as he offered one to the lawyer. Ray gave him a small smile, warring between sheepish and apologetic, and reached out to take it. He didn't miss how Nate somehow looked more tired and deflated than when Ray had walked in.

Nate popped the top off the other, and leaned back against the counter, drinking deeply out of the bottle. In a gesture Ray was becoming accustomed to, Nate closed his eyes slowly as though resigned to whatever he was going to do next. Which was apparently tp try to kill off the beer in one go. To his credit, he made it most of the way through before he lowered the bottle and winced. Ray figured Nate was trying to drink away whatever emotions he was having trouble with at the moment. Well, still better than giving up for good.

Fick cast a sideways glance at him again and said, "It's about a twenty minute drive from around Pendleton." He shook his head, as though he were dreading what was going to happen.

Softly, Ray said, "He's not gonna fight you, Nate. He's not gonna yell at you, he's not gonna think any less of you."

Nate shook his head, but didn't respond. It was like the interaction had taken it all from him.

Fick was wrong. Colbert was there in a little under fifteen minutes. Somebody was knocking at Fick's door, and Fick peeled himself off the counter to answer. When he opened it, Ray could hear an entirely commonplace exchange of, "Hey, Brad," returned with, "Nate."

Ray peered around the edge of the kitchen to see Colbert coming in with a bag of fast food. He lifted his chin at Ray in greeting, and eased past him, plopping the bag on the counter. "You have plates, or you wanna eat off the counter like a savage," he asked of Fick, deadpan. Fick smiled at that, and pushed into the kitchen as well.

The whole apartment was small enough to make it a little crowded and the kitchen proved the point for making it tight for three grown men. Ray swallowed the last of his beer and set it on the floor next to the trash. "I'll call you tomorrow, Nate," he said, and Fick tossed him a wave without turning from the cabinet.

Brad gave him a single nod, a gesture of acknowledgement that belied the easeful posture he had assumed against the kitchen counter, ankles crossed with his hips resting against the edge.

Ray returned it, and was out the door. He wrestled with a wave of guilt that overtook him, hoping that what he had done wouldn't prompt Fick to do something even more rash, and mostly relieved because he knew Brad Colbert wouldn't let his lieutenant do something while he was there. There was something rare about Fick, Ray reflected, about a guy who would get arrested and go to jail rather than let whatever fallout rain down on his guys, and not look for any support in return. Ray didn't quite understand the whole mechanism behind it yet, but it was clear what Fick had chosen to do.

He was just relieved Fick's men seemed to value him as much as Fick valued them.

Even still, Ray called Fick pretty much first thing the next day. Fick answered the phone after the third ring, and Ray only barely managed to conceal a sigh of relief. Colbert wasn’t there, Ray determined, as Fick said he had to report for work. He still sounded tired, but there was less of the flatness of tone Ray had become accustomed to. Ray assured him his task for the day was to chill the fuck out, because he would be calling Nate later to check back with him about the cops. 

It was another bright day, like the last hundred in memory. Sometimes it seemed the entire area was trapped in its own small, surreal bubble, apart from the rest of the world. He found the precinct relatively easily, and asked at the front desk for copies of the reports of the officers on the respective night. The desk sergeant was a stolid man who took the details without batting an eye, and told him to wait to one side. Ray wondered if this meant he was actually going to get the reports, or if they were just screwing with him, but he awkwardly shuffled to one side, pulling out his pad of paper to make a note. Something about it was giving him a crawling feeling. 

After a few minutes, and a few more people being handled, the sergeant motioned to him. When Ray approached, the officer said tonelessly, “We don’t have any records from those two officers on that night matching that complaint.”

Ray felt his soul leave his body for a moment, before he asked, voice slightly high, “Pardon?”

“No record of those officers arresting a Fick, or any name like that. You sure you got all the details right?”

Ray swallowed hard. “Yeah I’m sure. No complainant in that bar, nobody named Griego?”

The desk sergeant shook his head. Then his brows came together and his gaze sharpened on Ray. “Griego? I know those two are pals with a Marine called Griego. You sure you got the name right?”

Ray forced a slow shrug, feeling his stomach dropping. “Maybe not. Guess I gotta talk with my client again, huh?”

The desk sergeant looked faintly worried as he watched Ray bundle his pad and notes back into his bag. “Yeah. Maybe you better. Lemme get your number, so if we have anything I missed, I’ll call you back with it?” Ray rattled his number off unthinkingly as he finished his task, and hoped he didn’t look too startled when he looked back at the sergeant. “Thanks, man,” he said, still feeling weirdly unsettled as he turned away.

Ray spent a little more time that afternoon affirming Griego knew the officers, mostly confirming with some of the other Marines. At least two others corroborated, and Ray got the feeling Griego had known the officers for a while. What a shit world. It didn’t have to be any kind of huge conspiracy to stitch Nate Fick up, just two buddies in the “right” place at the “right” time.

He wasn’t sure any of this information would do Nate any good, not now anyway. But he called the Marine in the evening as he said he would, and Nate sounded better, calmer. Ray gave the sketchiest version of his information as possible, and Fick snorted. “What a--” he stopped himself before he could go any further, still the officer Ray had said he no longer was. After a pause, Fick asked, “So? How are you gonna present all this?”

“Mistrial, my man. They basically have no evidence they apprehended you. They’d be lucky if you weren’t the litigious type, you could sue their asses for false imprisonment.” There was a mutual pause, and Ray asked, “How you holding up?”

“I’m good.” Fick actually sounded it. He sounded focused, clear. “Looking up grad schools.”

Ray didn’t bother squashing his smile. “That’s great, man.” 

Fick gave a huff of a laugh, and then said, “Hey, I got another call, I gotta let you go.”

For the first time in a while, the tight knot of worry for his client eased a bit. “No problem man. I’ll see ya.”

“See ya.” 

Ray listened to the beep as their call ended, and brought the phone back down. Time to draw up his game plan.

_v. the trial_

The trial turned out to be as anticlimactic affair as Ray could remember. He had juicer courtroom fights over traffic tickets. As much as he liked fiery speeches in law movies, the courtroom was rarely the same thing, and a simple assault charge rarely gave that kind of platform for an impassioned performance.

In fact, Ray gave his opening argument in less than five minutes; that there simply wasn't enough evidence collected to prove that Nathaniel Fick had been the aggressor in the confrontation, and that in fact he had been wrongly arrested in the affair. Ray introduced multiple pieces of sworn testimony, all pointing to the fact that they had witnessed Griego initiate the confrontation by pushing Fick into a corner and start essentially strangling him. That, coupled with the fact neither the bouncers nor the officers involved recalled getting Fick's side of the story, nor had they asked people closest to the fight, what had happened. The judge, a stern mid-40s woman, took a few minutes to skim over the testimonies, and by the time she got to the officers report, she asked, slightly incredulous, if this was true.

With a slight, incredulous huff, the judge ordered the case dismissed, and Ray turned in time to see Fick physically rock as though the words had hit him like a physical blow. Blinking, he turned to Ray, looking bewildered. "What just happened?" he asked, sounding disoriented.

Ray grinned and patted his back. "You're free, my man."

"Why didn't you say anything to the cops?" asked Ray, as they both walked to the parking lot.

Fick turned to Ray, keys clutched loosely in one hand. From the posture of his body, for an instant, Ray could see what Fick must have been like as a lieutenant in a recon unit, focused and competent, eyes steady and evaluating. Finally, Fick broke off his silence. "My guys would still have to have dealt with Griego, regardless if I was there or not. Having a guy who had been discharged get arrested is still better for unit morale than having a senior NCO arrested. Griego would have made their lives hell. This way, he knew he fucked up, because all of the other guys knew he fucked up. Like the sword of Damocles, ready to cut his life in half."

It was such an unexpectedly historical reference that Ray's was surprised. The long term thinking that Fick must have done both in the split second after the fight, and while he was being taken to jail, was even more impressive in retrospect. Fick was clearly a good strategist, and it shone even more light onto what kind of Marine he must have been. Devoted to his men, and skilled at his job. But surrounded by men like Griego, Ray could see how he would have gotten fatigued in shielding his men from those kinds of influences.

Ray stuck out a hand. "It's been an honor representing you, Lieutenant Fick."

A genuine smile crossed Fick's face, which looked more relaxed and steady than Ray had seen in weeks. "Thank you, Counselor Person." He gripped Ray's hand for a second longer as he said, "And thanks for looking out for me."

Ray smiled back at him. "Hey, man. Someone has to."


End file.
